


When I Wake (You’re Not There- And It Doesn’t Feel Right)

by GeoffsEightGreatestMistakes



Series: Reporters and a Black Skull Mask [9]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Reporter!Jon, Torture, also the angst in this is pretty bad and just some bad injuries at the end just be aware, it's nothing fatal i just needed to tag injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeoffsEightGreatestMistakes/pseuds/GeoffsEightGreatestMistakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they both wake, they’re alone and in the dark. It doesn’t feel right… and it feels even worse the longer it takes for the two of them to find each other.<br/>(A rival crew has taken Jon- and it takes too far too long for the Fake AH Crew to save him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Wake (You’re Not There- And It Doesn’t Feel Right)

**Author's Note:**

> With some input on [this](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/43418915) comment, and a mix own thoughts, this is what happened. Not sorry? This series seems to be a series where I casually put angst in. 
> 
> And also god sorry for the wait on this one. I had written this maybe three days after the last part of the series was posted but I couldn’t find time to edit because I've been so damn busy! But hey- I finally got around to editing it!

Jon wakes up to a dark, cold, and emptiness. His initial reaction is to try and move; but something thick and cold, like some sort of metal chain, is coiled around his wrists and ankles. The metal links click together as he tries to pull away. He must be bound to a wall or something, he can only move a few inches in any direction.

He remains oddly calm as he opens his eyes to darkness; a bag pulled over his eyes. There’s some sort of fabric filling his mouth, soaked in his spit as he tries to keep his breathing steady. Whatever is in his mouth is circled around his head; tied in a tight knot that’s resting painfully on the back of his head.

Jon doesn’t know what to do.

 

______________

 

Ryan wakes up to dark, cold, and emptiness. The room is dark, the other side of the bed is so cold; like nobody has been there for hours. His initial reaction is to sit up and find his fiance.

Something doesn’t feel right, and it coils around his guts and starts to tighten as he walks barefoot down the hallway. There’s nobody in the living room, or in the kitchen. He starts to get more worried when he gets to the table in the back of the living room, where Jon’s work is usually spread out.

Last night, Jon had worked late into the night. He had told Ryan to go to bed without him, the blond was exhausted after working an overnight job.

He suddenly regrets letting his fiance work late into the night; there’s a note sitting on the space where Jon’s laptop used to sit. When they had went to bed last night, the laptop had been there, and the controlled-chaos that was the desk looked even more disheveled; entire folders missing, stacks of papers pushed onto the floor, the arranged piles pushed around. Jon’s messy sometimes with organization, but he isn’t  _ that  _ messy.

This isn’t right, and Ryan’s stomach sinks as he picks up the little piece of paper stuck to the one clean spot of the table.

It’s a simple post-it note. Ryan knows what to do.

 

______________

 

The bag that’s over Jon’s head is forcefully pulled off, revealing the type of room Jon has seen before on crime shows. A mirror on one side of the room, the stereotypical two-way mirror, and a table off to the side, probably covered in various torture devices. His angle isn’t right though, he can’t see the array of sharp and shiny knives and or the other tools sitting on the table.

Jon swallows thickly as he looks up at the man above him. The man doesn't  _ look  _ like a guy who would do torture, but Jon’s gotten a little used to knowing people who look innocent but really aren’t. But the guy above him has a stern expression on; icy anger in his dark brown eyes, dark brown roots paired with badly bleached-blond hair that’s nearing the length of Jon’s. He has the look of a college student, dark exhausted circles under his eyes, and a short stubble on his chin.

Jon doesn’t say anything, looking up at the man with a (hopefully) blank expression. He doesn’t really know what to do. He’s heard stories about when the crew had taken people for questioning, and what Ryan sometimes had to do. He sometimes wrote articles about people being tortured for information. But he never imagined he’d be on the receiving end.

So now, as he looks up at this man, he swallows thickly once more and tries to keep his breathing steady. He hopes that he appears calm, despite the gag in his mouth clogging up his airway.

“Well, well, well…” The man is so cliche it’s sad, but Jon’s a little too worried about what’s going to happen to him to think about it. 

He also thinks about Ryan- and god how it’s going to hurt when he finds out that his fiance has been taken. He doesn’t think about what will happen after- when Ryan has found him and what they will do then. 

“Jon Risinger…” The man slips his grossly warm fingers under Jon’s chin; tilting the brunet’s head up so they are forced to lock eyes. The touch is soft for a second, then he’s clenching Jon’s jaw; forcing him to stay still. “Reporter for Los Santos Daily… And you’re sleeping with the Vagabond.”

Jon wrenches his head back, harshly pulling away from the stranger’s touch. The words make his stomach tighten and twist. For one thing- the man is  _ dead  _ wrong, they’re engaged (this isn’t some fling- like the guy is making it sound). And secondly, his voice is rough and gravely, making Jon feel like he wants to throw up.

The man is not pleased when Jon tries to pull away. He runs a disgusting hand through the brunet’s hair, clenching at the long locks and forcing him to hold still. 

It makes Jon let out a muffled whimper; his teeth clenching down on the gag in his mouth. Ryan does this; running his fingers through his hair, then holding the locks as their lips meet passionately. But this is nothing like Ryan’s touch; his fiance doesn’t pull at his hair with harsh intent, like the man above him does. The man his hurting him, using his long hair to keep his head almost painfully still.

“What? Don’t like being called the Vagabond’s little slut?” The man sneers. The gag in Jon’s mouth forces him to remain silent; unable to defend himself in anyway. He can only glare up at the stranger with a vindictive look in his eyes.

“Well it’s true,” the man speaks simply, as if speaking to a toddler. “The Vagabond doesn’t love you… Or should I say  _ James Haywood _ ?”

Jon tries to yell, but it’s muffled and quiet through the gag.

The man above him laughs softly, sharply pulling Jon’s hair back. The sudden pull forces a cry out of Jon’s throat. 

“Well we have a lot to talk about Risinger… We’ve seen your files, and I must say, you’re awfully good at storing valuable information in such an easy,  _ unprotected _ place,” The man pulls away, but not completely. The hand in his hair gently cups his cheek, in a soft and delicate way that makes Jon’s heart throb in pain because of the familiarity.

“And you’re going to do me a few favors.”

The man pulls away, power and confidence fueling him as he walks over to the table. As he speaks, he runs his hands over the handles of a few different knives. He has already made up his mind on his weapon, but he makes a show out of picking a knife. Instilling fear in Jon is his goal for a few minutes, before he starts the  _ real  _ show.

Jon’s eyes slowly widen as the man reveals a long and slender knife. His gut twists.

He doesn’t know what to do.

 

______________

 

Ryan doesn’t care that he’s awake before sun, speeding through the streets of Los Santos towards the industrial section on the outskirts of town. 

When he had read the note left behind, his first reaction was to send a group text with ‘emergency meeting- be at base in 30’ in it. 

He didn’t read the six responses he got, all of them asking what had happened. He threw his phone down onto the passenger seat, pushing his leather jacket on top of it and he hastily pulled out of the parking garage. 

He had barely gotten dressed, pulling on the first shirt and pair of jeans he saw in their closet. His hair was an unbrushed mess, full of flyaways now that Jon had convinced him to start growing it out.

But he doesn’t care about his appearance, he had fucked up and now Jon had been taken. He’d made a promise months ago, when Jon had found the mask in the guest bedroom closet, and he’d promised that he’d protect Jon, and wouldn’t let him get kidnapped. This is like his worst nightmare come true.

Ryan’s hands clench the steering wheel as he runs his third red light. But the streets are empty, the city in the two hour limbo of the partiers just getting home and those who rise before the sun are just now waking. Nobody is on the streets, and Ryan ignores all driving laws as he pulls off the main grid of streets to the smaller side streets of the industry area.

He chastises himself both inside his head and out loud until he reaches the base.

 

Inside, Geoff and Gavin are there already, Geoff dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, and Gavin’s still in his pajamas. Both looked like they’re just now waking up; and it’s fortunate that they share an apartment sometimes.

Jack comes out of the kitchen with the biggest mug in the base in hand, full of steaming, freshly-brewed coffee. 

Michael and Ray have yet to arrive, but Ryan could swear he saw one of Michael’s less expensive cars pulling off the highway when he passed an exit.

When Ryan comes up to Geoff, his boss turns and gives him a worried look. “What’s wrong?”

Just as Ryan’s lips part, he hears the garage door behind him open, and he doesn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that Ray and Michael are here; the two live in the same building and often share rides to the base.

“Jon’s been taken.” Ryan’s voice is low and serious. 

The guys all freeze, all of them looking at Ryan with wide eyes.

“The guys who took him… they left a note,” His voice is softer now, and he pulls out a slightly crumpled note out of his back pocket. After reading it initially, he had accidentally crushed it in anger, then made weak attempts to flatten it out while in the elevator down to the parking garage.

Geoff weakly takes the note, silent as he reads it over. 

It’s then passed around, Michael and Ray the last ones to read it as Michael holds it between them. Ray’s sleep-dazed look disappears when he reads the little note.

 

‘ _ Want your little reporter back? _

_ Well too bad.. We’d like to hear what he has to say. _

_ We’ve heard he has some things to say about you Vagabond.’ _

 

The note isn’t signed, and it’s written in handwriting so nice it looks like it could’ve been printed off a computer. This little note leaves them no clues about where Jon could be.

As Ryan watches the guys’ faces fall at the written words, his stomach twists up. None of them have any ideas about what to do, and it makes his heart throb as he remembers the promise he made to Jon… To find the brunet as fast as possible.

And Ryan doesn’t have a single clue on how long that could take. 

He doesn’t know what to do.

 

______________

 

When Jon is left alone in the dim and empty room after hours of slow and drawn out pain, he lets out a soft sob. The fabric is still balled up in his throat, and there are tracks in the corners of his lips where spit had spilled out and rolled down his chin. There are tracks on his cheeks too, tears of pain as he lays there on the cold concrete floor, body throbbing with each intake of breath.

He knows one of his legs are broken, but he doesn’t know which leg it is, or which bone broke. It just hurts, and he can barely move. There are cuts littering the rest of his body, crisscrossing his chest and arms. There is a cut on his cheek, curving down from his right temple, across his jaw to the corner of his lips. It isn’t a deep cut, but it’s enough to bleed; rolling down his jaw to the concrete below and starting to pool. 

The other cuts on him are the same; staining his shirt and pooling below him.

But Jon doesn’t even realize that he’s lying in a small pool of his own blood. He’s clouded by pain and confusion. The world feels like it’s spinning whenever his eyes are open. His breathing is shaky and he can hardly breathe without sobbing in pain. The shake of his shoulders with each sob jolt his body, shifting whichever leg is broken and sending another wave of pain through him. There’s also something in his chest that’s making it hard to breathe, like a broken rib or something.

And whatever part of his brain that isn’t stuck in pain is stuck in guilt. Somewhere through the man’s torture, the gag had been pulled out in attempts to get Jon to spill.

All that came out of Jon was barely useful facts, but it was still enough to please the man and have the gag shoved back into his mouth. 

Jon felt guilt for caving, but this was the worst pain he had ever been in. As he brokenly sobs, he hopes that this isn’t how he dies. There’s deep cuts in his stomach that are steadily bleeding and he knows that there is a chance that this could be his end.

He wishes that his last words to Ryan weren’t a promise to be in bed soon… He wishes it was a proper goodbye.

As his pulse starts to slow from blood loss, and his eyes feel heavy with the inky black of unconsciousness from pain, he murmurs against the gag, softly saying ‘I love you’.

He doesn’t know what to do, and he hopes that this isn’t his end.

 

______________

 

Ryan thinks he’s too late.

It’s been nearly three days since Jon has disappeared, and they finally catch word from a contact about some small, independent crew bragging to them about taking a reporter from the LS Daily. 

Jack had heard the news, relaying it to Ryan, who had yet to sleep or eat anything since finding the note. They’ve spent the past few days at the base, sleeping on the couch or in one of the rooms they have set up just in case. 

And when Ryan hears the news of that small crew bragging, he has absolutely zero hesitance with going after them.

“We’re going,  _ now _ ,” he demands, pausing in his pacing. They’re all stuck in their conference room, everybody spread out across the big table except for Ryan. His nerves are keeping him from sitting, and he’s been pacing around the room for hours now; driving them all crazy.

“We’re not going now,” Geoff speaks immediately, meeting Ryan’s aggravated glare with an exhausted look. “None of us have slept well in days… We’re going to fuck this up if we go in now.”

While Ryan wants to go in immediately, he can’t help but agree with Geoff. They’ve all been in the base for days, running on redbulls and other caffeinated drinks to keep awake after hardly sleeping during the night. So he sighs, gritting his teeth as he stands up straight. 

“Fine,” He growls.

“Good- now I’ll set Kdin and Trevor on finding this crew’s base… We’ll head in first thing in the morning okay?” Geoff’s tone is professional and calm, like this is just another meeting instead of a rescue mission on one of their pseudo-family members.

“You’re all staying in the base tonight… We’ll be up and out by 5:30.” The time is early, but it’s nearing one, and even though the time to sleep isn’t that long, it’s better than nothing.

But it’s not like they’d be sleeping peacefully anyway… It would be hard to sleep.

 

But Ryan thinks he’s too late when he gets to Jon closer to 7 in the morning.

He steps into the small side room where they are keeping Jon. It’s a miserable sight; Jon is laying in a tattered, bloody mess in the corner of the room. There’s something dark pooled underneath him, and Ryan knows that it’s blood. And Jon’s blood-smeared chest is heaving, taking short and choppy breaths.

He rushes forward, falling onto his knees in front of his fiance. The sharp pain of his knees hitting the concrete don’t even phase him as he checks Jon’s pulse. It’s weak, but it’s still there and that’s all that matters.

He hears footsteps behind him, and a sharp breath before he sees Jack in the corner of his vision.

“Get Caleb,” Ryan demands as he cups Jon’s cheek. It hurts to see red on his hands, knowing that it’s his fiance’s, but he pushes the guilt down and swallows the lump in his throat as he pulls off his mask with his other hand.

Everybody else is cleaning out the small one-level office building this small crew uses as their base on the outskirts of the country. They should be fine as they get Jon out. 

Jack is instantly on it, pulling out his phone to get Caleb on the phone. The bearded man has no hesitation, not wanting to lose Jon. 

_ Lose Jon _ .

It’s a statement that crosses Ryan’s mind as he checks over the cut on the brunet’s face. He doesn’t realize that tears are slowly welling up. He doesn’t realize that Jack’s got tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t realize anything as he starts to hastily patch up the cuts on Jon’s torso with the medical supplies Jack brought with them.

Ryan feels like he’s too late, Jon is laying in his own blood, smeared in red and looking  painfully pale as he lays there, unconscious  from pain and unaware that Ryan is cleaning him up and mouthing ‘I love you’ repeatedly because he can’t trust himself enough to not scream instead of whisper.

And Ryan doesn’t know what to do about the broken leg, but he knows that they have to bring Jon out front to where Caleb is waiting.

Ryan doesn’t know what to do though as they watch Caleb drive away with Jon, to the nearest hospital.

 

______________

 

The next time Jon wakes, he’s not in the dark, and he’s not alone.

Slow, steady beeping, in time with his heart, mixes in with the white noise of a hospital; people walking down the tile floor in the hall and having distant conversations, the air conditioner whirring, and the soft buzzing sounds of the machines hooked to Jon.

When his eyes slowly open, the first thing he sees is a clinically clean and white ceiling. Blinking slowly, his eyes move away from the ceiling, and into the room. It’s small and crowded by hospital machinery, but in the empty space there’s uncomfortable chairs set up.

There’s three chairs, and only one is occupied;  _ Ryan _ . 

It hurts to see Ryan, and Jon’s lips part so he can let out a shaky breath. It feels weird, the gag is gone and he can actually breathe through his mouth. 

Then he whimpers softly, accidentally shifting and jostling his leg; which is propped up in a sling. Then he remembers what had happened, and he stares at the white cast that covers his entire right leg; from the top of his thigh down to his toes. It’s rigid and uncomfortable, but then he sees black ink near his knee.

 

‘ _ We won’t let this happen again. _

_ I love ya kid _

_ -Geoff’  _

 

The corner of Jon’s lip quirks up in a weak smile as he runs his fingers over the ink. It’s in Geoff’s usually messy scrawl, hardly legible, but it’s the thought that counts, and he reads all of the other notes that the guys have left.

Jack has written a message on his thigh, a short heart-felt apology for taking so long. It’s in purple ink this time, and Jon sniffles softly as he reads it.

Ray has left a bad drawing of a dick just below his knee, pubes and ejaculate included on the picture. He’s signed it, using black ink to draw a heart next to it.

He can only see half of Gavin’s message, some bad joke written around his shin that disappears to the back of his cast. It doesn’t make sense at all, but he can only read half the joke.

Michael has left his signature on the top of Jon’s foot in bright red ink, promising him that the guys who took the brunet ‘got got’ and they’ll protect his ‘wheelchair-bound-ass’ until he’s healed. It makes Jon let out a soft, airy laugh.

Then he realizes that Ryan is the only one who hasn’t left a note, and he lifts his eyes, up at Ryan. His fiance is asleep in the hospital chair, head tilted to the side, leaning against the white wall as his legs are spread across the empty chair next to him.

He looks peaceful, yet also not, in the hospital chair. And Jon bites his lip, feeling guilty about what he had told those crew members, and what pain Ryan had gone through.

So as he looks at Ryan, he tries to remember what had happened. He has no idea how long he was gone, or the specifics of what the man had done to him. It’s all just a fuzzy cloud of pain after the man broke his leg.

But he’s pretty sure Caleb will give him the run-down of his injuries whenever he appears. 

Jon’s lost in his thoughts, staring off into the room’s small window next to the bed when Ryan stirs. Distantly, he hears shuffling and shifting, but he doesn’t realize it’s Ryan who is shifting and moving until his fiance speaks.

“Jon?” Ryan’s voice is soft, and gentle.

The brunet’s eyes pull away from the window. Their eyes meet, and Ryan takes in a sharp breath.

“How do you feel?” Ryan gets out of his chair, moving to kneel down by the side of Jon’s bed. He gently holds Jon’s hand; sandwiching the brunet’s hand between his own. He has to be careful, that hand as the IV in and a monitor clipped to his ring finger.

“Sore…” Jon whispers. His voice is hoarse and dry, like he’s got a terrible cold and coughing has ruined his throat. “It hurts all over..”

Ryan bites his lip, and he keeps his eyes on Jon’s as he watches the brunet take in the image of a cast on his leg and his bare chest and arms covered in bandages. For Ryan, it makes his stomach tighten as he sees the butterfly bandages holding the cut on his cheek closed. A painful cut marking up a beautiful face.

“I love you, and I’m sorry.” Ryan whispers, gently squeezing Jon’s hand. “For letting you get kidnapped… And taking so long to find you.”

Ryan’s got his eyes on Jon’s cast now, and he doesn’t see the tears well up in the beautiful blue eyes of his fiance.

“Don’t apologize.” Jon’s got his eyes on the cast now, re-reading the notes the crew left him with an absent mind. “It’s not anybody’s fault…”

“Yes it is,” Ryan insists. “I promised I’d protect you… I promised.”

“And you did protect me,” Jon’s eyes shift back to Ryan. “You got me out of there as fast as you could… This could’ve been a lot worse…”

Ryan doesn’t speak for a minute. His eyes are locked on that damn cast, with five signatures on it in different color ink and different handwritings. Sure, Jon is right, this could’ve been far worse… But it’s the thought of losing Jon that he’s still stuck on.

“When I came in there… To that room they were keeping you in… I thought you were dead…” Ryan whispers. “You were in a puddle of your own blood, and god you hardly had a pulse... There was so much blood… And it was all your’s...” 

Jon closes his eyes, trying to ward off the tears.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever forget that… Seeing you in pain because of the crew.”

“I’m not upset with you Ryan. I knew this was coming… I knew that someday I’d get in some trouble because of work… I was expecting it.. I’m not upset with anybody.” 

Jon’s voice is shaking as he speaks; he’s trying to keep himself from crying. He’s had enough tears. “And I’ll be healed soon enough.. In a few months I’ll be good as new.”

“I know,” Ryan slowly nods. He looks up at Jon, who has slowly opened his eyes to reveal his sweet blue eyes glossy with tears. 

“I love you Ryan,” Jon whispers, weakly curling his fingers around Ryan’s hand.

“I love you too, dear.”

 

______________

 

Jon spends the night in the hospital, the doctors wanting to make sure that he’s okay after his blood loss, cracked ribs, and everything else was okay.

Fortunately, Jon was still (mostly) a civilian, and he could spend a few days in the hospital without having to worry about being recognized. When the guys came to visit, they had a little more trouble with trying to get past people (luckily Caleb was able to brush off the emergency room secretary’s slight worry about the familiarity she had about Geoff).

But when Jon got out of the hospital, he sitting in a wheelchair with his leg propped up, and was being wheeled out by Ryan. They went through the main door, and in the line for pickups sat a big black van with Geoff leaning against the hood. The tattooed man looked up when Ryan wheeled Jon over.

“Your ride is here,” Geoff gestures to the massive van, and Jon laughs softly.

“You guys got me a van..?” He cracks a soft smile. Since he woke up, he hasn’t quite been his usual self. He’s dealing with the fact that he was tortured, and how he would have to adjust things to deal with being in a wheelchair.

“Yeah,” Ryan hums softly. “We figured you wouldn’t be able to fit into any sports car… They’re a little too small for your cast.”

Jon rolls his eyes as he tilts his head back to look at Ryan. “You guys are assholes! I’m not  _ that  _ big.”

Geoff chuckles and he pulls open one of the side doors. 

“Well Ray suggested it.. He thought you’d like it,” Geoff shrugs, pausing for a few seconds. Then he speaks a little awkwardly. “And.. uh.. We wanted to help you out..”

“Oh..” Jon slowly nods, biting his bottom lip. “Thank you Geoff… For everything…”

“Your welcome, of course.” Geoff leans against the side of the van, glancing up at Ryan, who has a gentle hand set on Jon’s shoulder. “You’re part of the family. Fake AH protects family. Always.”

Jon slowly nods, a soft smile spreading across his lips.

“Thanks Geoff… But can we get home already? I miss my bed.”

Ryan laughs softly, and he pushes Jon up to the van. “Yeah.. Now I’ll have to be careful about cuddling with you.”

As they carefully maneuver Jon into the backseat, he pouts and whines a little. “Aw… I was looking forward to that the most!”

They all share a soft laugh.

It’s going to take a little bit to get used to this… but things will get better for them. Definitely.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If I ever get around to it, I’m going to add like a cute recovery fic or something. But for now, I’m trying to relax after two long weeks of working on my school’s musical. I did the math, from Feb. 12 to Feb. 27th, I worked about 73 hours after school and on weekends. Yeeeep, so that’s why it took me so long to edit this, and also why I haven’t posted much in the past month. But hey, I’ll be writing more and trying my best to write some cute happy recovery stuff. (but I imagine there will be a little angst because that’s just how I do things now and days I guess.)
> 
> And you also know what to do- hit me up on my [tumblr](http://geoffs-8-greatest-mistakes.tumblr.com/) so we can talk about this au and you can also send me things to write for this au!


End file.
